Ferrisdae and I headed back into town alone. Cojisto and Moose had wanted to wander, so we gave them a scouting mission following the north road which was supposed to lead back to the Witchlands’ capital city of Antrinarc. Since the city was in the blizzard, we weren’t sure of its exact location. But, given the speed a moose could reach, they would likely be back before sundown according to Cojisto.

“I do want to speak to the blacksmith first,” I told Ferrisdae. “To chat and see if there’s any possibility of getting some kind of weapon and shield.”

Ferrisdae nodded. “I’m okay with it,” she said. “We have a few days until the chicken attack so we could go about this adventure at a leisurely pace for your old bones.”

I shot her a glare, but she just smiled again. “Kids these days,” I said despite knowing she was almost three times my age.

That never did make sense to me, though I made peace with my ignorance on the subject long ago. Elves had all this time before they were considered adults, but they just didn’t mature as fast as the other races. Was it because they had centuries of life ahead of them? That didn’t make sense, because Dwarves were the same although on a shorter timeline. Gnomes, too, but maturity was always hit or miss regardless of their age.

“Copper for your thoughts?” She asked, leaning down slightly to look at me.

“Do you even have a copper piece?” I asked, snorting.

“Yes, but I left them in my other robes,” she answered, then snickered like it was some great joke. It felt forced.

I sighed, but didn’t push it. The blacksmith was the first real building in town, and I stepped inside of it to be greeted with a blast of heat from the forge. It was enough to immediately make me sweat. I missed my jacket and its temperature regulation magic. Until recently I was always with it, so I had no idea how much I would notice it once it was gone.

The blacksmith looked at us from where he was hammering on a red hot piece of metal and grunted. He was a burly, green skinned Orc. His head was bald, but his black eyebrows were very bushy. Dark brown eyes stared down at us, and his tusks kept his mouth slightly open. Dumping the metal into a barrel of water that immediately began to boil and sizzle, he set down his hammer and stood up to greet us.

“Welcome. I am Gar,” he said. “This is my smithy.”

“Good afternoon, Gar,” I said. His aura was yellow. “I am Dungeon Inspector Badger, and this is…” I turned to gesture to Ferrisdae to see her still standing outside of the smithy.

“And this is?” Gar asked.

I crossed my arms. “Are you going to come in?”

“It’s unbearably hot in there. I’m wearing a white shirt, and going to go speak to Mr. Carr after this. So, no,” Ferrisdae firmly started as she shook her head. “No, I will not come into the smithy.”

“That is fair,” Gar said, nodding. “Keith pays me well, but I would never trust him with my daughter.”

“Yes, that was the distinct impression I got from him,” I agreed bitterly. I turned back to Gar. “That’s Junior Dungeon Inspector Ferrisdae, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Gar said. “What can I do for you?”

I slipped into speaking Orcish since Ferrisdae wasn’t joining us. It was rusty - I hadn’t needed it in many years - but I felt it prudent today. “Mr. Gar, I-”

“Just Gar,” he responded in Orcish. However, his yellow aura shifted ever so slightly towards green.

“Gar, yes,” I said, suddenly very pleased with myself. “Through a series of trials and mishaps, my junior and I, as well as an adventurer and a moose, have arrived here with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Since we have experience with dungeons, we have offered our expertise to Mr. Carr, but we wanted to know the lay of the land before barging into the mines.”

“Why come to me?” Gar asked. “You could ask Oakley at the mess hall all the same questions, and do it over an ale in a room that’s not sweltering.”

“I could,” I admitted. “But I also wanted to see how you priced things like swords and shields. For when we have more than just the clothes on our back, you see. I figured I could do everything at once.”

Gar grunted. “I don’t make swords, I make pickaxes,” he said. “I used to make swords, but now I make pickaxes for the miners. That’s what Keith pays me for, so that’s what I do.”

It sounded as though Gar had more to say, so I waited. Then, the Orc scowled, running his hand over his bald head. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he spat. “There’s a damned giant disappearing chicken that attacks our walls, and he’s insistent on me repairing all these broken pickaxes and reforging them into new ones. That thing’s going to make it into these walls one of these days, I tell you, and I won’t be here when it does.”

“You seem like a very prudent entrepreneur, Gar,” I told him. “The short talk I had with Carr allowed me to pin him as very cavalier on the subject of the… giant chicken. All we were able to learn about it was that it appears and disappears suddenly, and always in the same spot.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“That’s all anyone knows,” Gar said with a shake of his head. “No one will get close to the wall when it’s attacking. The only reason we know it’s a damned chicken is because of its ungodly loud clucking.”

“That sounds really obnoxious,” I said honestly.

“It really, really is,” Gar sighed. He moved back to his workbench, and I followed him. The Orc picked up a pickaxe with a point that was both blunted and bent.

“What is Carr mining for down there that can do something like this?” I asked, standing on my toes so I could see onto his workbench. There was a line of pickaxes just like it.

“It’s not so bad,” Gar said. “Pickaxes breaking isn't something uncommon, although it’s not usually the sole focus of my work. They were digging for silver when they found some kind of crystalline structure. The miners tried to break it up, but they didn’t even do so much as scratch it from what I hear.”

“A tall crystal obelisk, right?” I asked.

“That's what I've heard,” Gar said with a nod. “Haven't seen it myself. The mining operation has sort of shut down everything in favor of widening the tunnels to get it out of there. He wants it back here as a monument to all we’re doing, but I just think he’s greedy. Not that I can complain; that’s why I’m out here fixing pickaxes instead of back home with my family.”

I felt a twinge in my heart for that one. “I know the feeling, Gar,” I told him honestly. “My job keeps me away from mine for long periods of time, though I always try to visit them as often as I can, even if it means going out of my way to stay at home.” Luckily, I had been able to see them before coming on this subjugation run, but short visits were never enough.

Gar looked down at me, giving me an assessing look, and I saw his aura change from a yellow-green to full green. “We have to make that gold, right?” he asked.

“The world doesn’t run without it,” I said with a sad chuckle.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Gar put down the pickax he was currently holding and placed his hands on the workbench. “Does it have to be a sword?” he asked after a moment of consideration.

“It’s my preferred weapon of choice, but I feel confident with most anything that isn’t too exotic,” I responded.

“I’ve got some of the good metal tucked away,” Gar confided. Then, he grinned, showing off a row of pointed teeth. “Most of the iron that Keith ordered in is pretty crap, one of the reasons why I’ve been keeping so busy, but I have enough to possibly make a horseman’s pick sized for a certain Dungeon Inspector that’s darkened my doorstep lately. Keith can’t complain if I keep making picks, right?”

“A horseman’s pick, you say?” I asked, considering. It was basically a warhammer with a pick on the end, and that made it a common weapon I wouldn’t have any problems wielding. “That would do nicely. I can make my own shield, all I would need are the tools and some pieces of leather.”

“I can supply you with those, no problem,” Gar said. "Even get you some good wood so you don't gotta go out and chop down a small tree."

"Much appreciated," I said. I looked from the pickaxes to the Orc. “How much will the horseman’s pick and the leather cost, along with the use of your tools?”

Gar stroked his chin thoughtfully, then seemed to decide on something. “I’m going to make a proposal here, ready?” Gar asked, to which I nodded my head. “You get your leather, your weapon, and get to use my tools free of charge, but you have to do something about that damned chicken before you leave our settlement.”

I frowned. “We hadn’t been planning on staying that long,” I said slowly. Though it might end up that the mine angle was a bust and the giant chicken was the path out of the dungeon, then the deal would come to fruition. But if it wasn’t, well I just didn’t feel good about taking a deal that I might not uphold.

Gar waved a hand at my indecisiveness. “If you leave before then, just give it back, and I’ll take whatever shield you make as compensation,” he said. “Don’t want to keep you from your family if that’s where you’re heading next.”

“Why?” I asked him, genuinely confused at why he would be willing to help.

“Why?” Gar asked with a laugh. “Because it doesn’t matter. If I bet on you and the chicken dies, then I’ve secured my work here and could probably move my family in since the danger’s gone. If you leave, then I’ll have made a really good pick and got a shield to boot."

"I could be a really shoddy craftsman," I argued. "Could be really bad."

"I don't think so. You strike me as the kind of guy who goes in, focuses too hard, and gets the work done right. But, honestly, and this is just between you and me,” Gar leaned down close to me, grinning like he was letting me in on a conspiracy. “It ain’t my materials, and it’ll only take me three to four hours of time to forge one from scratch. Boss man Keith’s already paid the bill, all I’m giving is time and expertise.”

“When you put it like that, it really does sound like it’s nothing but wins for you all around,” I said, smirking at the Orc’s mirth. I reached out with my hand. “Then you have a deal.”

Reaching down, Gar engulfed my hand up to my wrist in his and we shook on it. “Then come back tomorrow morning, I’ll have it done and ready for you,” Gar said. “Wooden shields don’t take too long, either, so if you want to come early before you and your junior head out, feel free.”

“Badger, sir!” Ferrisdae called from outside. We both turned to see her pointing towards the entrance of the settlement. “The obelisk is here!”

“Thank you very much, Gar,” I told him, already stepping towards the door. “I look forward to working with you in the morning.”

“And I with you, Dungeon Inspector, and I with you,” Gar said before giving Ferrisdae a wave and returning to his work.

I stepped outside of the smithy to stand next to Ferrisdae. The cool spring air instantly cooled my body from the harsh environment that Gar worked in. My shirt clung to me, and I could see my skin through it. It was definitely a good idea for Ferrisdae to wait outside; I probably wasn’t even presentable to anyone let alone Carr at this point.

None of that mattered as soon as I laid eyes on the obelisk, it looked exactly like it did outside of the dungeon. Men pushed it while others moved logs ahead of it so that they could keep it moving. That was far more efficient than dragging it, and it looked like it would be too heavy for any kind of wagon.

“It really is the same crystal, isn’t it?” I asked out loud.

“Sure looks like it,” Ferrisdae confirmed. “Do you think that it’s important?”

“It has to be, I think,” I responded. “Now we just have to figure out how important it is. That’s the part I’m not looking forward to.”